Tonight
even the crickets are silent
as if they felt the earth
quake from rifle shots
each one landing louder than the last.
Only the echoes of my footsteps on the pavement
cut through the night sky
a row of houses holding their breath
waiting hoping praying
for anything, something
to happen.
As if you can blink away the guns
hide in cookie cutter neighborhoods
until things die down
until someone else solves the problem
until another shot pierces through your window.
three generations 